Puzzle Pieces
by AndEverythingNicely
Summary: Spencer Reid, BAU agent, is gone. What he is replaced with is an empty shell that has a long road of recovery and a fight against physical and mental barriers ahead. While recovering from a traumatic kidnapping, he knows deep down that there's a bigger purpose for him. He has to find out who hurt him, and he can't begin to imagine the risks he'll take to learn the truth.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey. This is set in later seasons when Derek was still in the show, but before Lewis joined. Kind of in between seasons. I've written for this website before, but I recently deleted my account and started fresh :)**

 **This story will update when I feel like it. Maybe never. Maybe every week. Maybe every year. You see, I'm a busy gal and it's quality over quantity here - so I'm sorry for infrequent updates.**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

He was spread out in the back seat of the rusted grey pickup truck, his torso awkwardly pressed against one door and his feet touching the other. As disoriented and unfocused he was, he wouldn't dare to look up from his cuffed wrists. If he did so much as look out of the window into the night, he'd be in big trouble.

The orange light from the street lamps illuminated the defined features of his face, casting him back into the shadows when the light was no longer visible. It kept him awake, amongst other things, as the light passed through his eyelids and created a deep orange shade on the back of them, allowing his bloodshot eyes to be able to tell when they passed a light. His mop of his curly hair fell over his brow, and he didn't have enough strength to brush it away.

In Spencer's two weeks, one day, twenty hours, thirty-two minutes and counting of confinement, he hadn't been let outside of the basement he had been trapped in, only for special occasions and now. it was funny how a syringe, containing the right drug and administered properly, could make you feel virtually dead. He could barely encourage his brain enough to move anything but his arms and wiggle his toes - and with difficulty. He could only observe with his eyes and ears, and make comments in his head of what he could make sense of. It kept him sane - he hoped. He knew most abductees didn't live this long. As twisted as it sounded, he was lucky to have been targeted by a long-term holder. In most cases, he would've most likely been floating dead in a river by now.

He never told Spencer his name, and he never asked for Spencer's. He seemed to know what it was, but he never referred to him as anything. He only acknowledged him as "you".

The sweater vest Reid wore the night he was taken was still on his body, but tattered and frayed beyond recognition, not to mention it's filthy condition. The sleeves of his shirt underneath were rolled up awkwardly, the fabric cuffs bunched up close to his armpit on one arm and resting near the crease of his elbow on the other.

The night he was taken. He reached back in his mind to two weeks ago. Though his brain was fried, memories from then were still clear in his mind. It was the day before his birthday, and though he told his friends to not throw him a party, he knew that they would spend all night decorating his workspace for a surprise party and preparing their gifts. Spencer knew that he shouldn't feel guilty for not showing up to work in the morning, ultimately leading to what most likely was panic and unrest.

He was jumped and taken by surprise while walking to his apartment building from a taxi a few blocks away. Without his gun on him, he was on the ground and passed out in a few hard hits with a blunt object - what he presumed was a bat. Spencer woke up in a cemented basement, chained to a table he would spend too much time getting to know.

Back then, he was hopeful that his team would find him quickly. He was sure that as soon as Garcia got the information and address, they would burst through the door, guns pointed and bulletproof vests on. They would find Reid and release him before any major damage had been done to him - physically and mentally. But that hope faded as days passed, which turned into weeks - and he was sure they thought he was dead.

He thought about Henry and Jack. How would JJ and Hotch tell his godson and his nephew that he wouldn't be coming home? He felt horrible for leaving them like this.

Guilt. That was the emotion that trumped all others. He was smart enough to know that he didn't cause this, and it wasn't even remotely his fault. But that didn't stop him from hating that he couldn't figure out a way to escape.

The injuries Reid had suffered over two weeks were either infected or about to be. His arms were covered in bruises and cuts. At the end of his bony hands, his fingernails were scraped raw much far past the once short white tips, exposing the red, sensitive skin underneath. Crusted blood gathered close to the exposed areas, but he was good at keeping them from bleeding if he was careful enough. He felt that his little finger on his right hand was broken - it bent at an unnatural angle, about fifteen degrees off from its regular shape.

He raised one cuffed hand to his lips, brushing them over with his long fingers. They were dry and cracked, stained with blood, swollen, and split open in the center. He wiped away the red from the still fresh gash on his cheek on his sleeve, adding yet another stain to his shirt.

His body ached and his stomach longed for the filling food that wasn't either raw or stale, but he tried not to focus on it. Instead, he kept listing off his injuries. cheekbones felt bruised down to the bone. Above, a shiny, black bruise circled his eye. He couldn't stop running his tongue over his chipped teeth. His right knee dampened and stained his pant leg with blood, and it hurt to walk. He felt the infection that seeped into his cuts and gashes inching closer and closer to his immune system - he was already feeling sick.

All of these injuries were caused either because he was disobedient in one way or another, or simply for the kidnapper's pleasure. Most occurred on the dirty basement's stained floor, or on top of the uncomfortable table he hated so much.

Reid watched carefully as the abductor turned up the truck's old radio. He listened intently, hoping to hear a weather update on where they were at the moment. Even knowing what town he was in could save his life. However, his heart sank as he realised why he had turned the radio volume up.

A calm, but bouncy woman's voice filled his ears from the station. "In other news, there is still no word on FBI agent Dr. Spencer Reid, who never showed up to work on the day of his birthday, leaving all of his personal belongings behind. What has been ruled as foul play continues, but the Behavioural Analysis Unit is not giving up. They will be leaving their hotline open for as long as necessary, and a press conference will be held tomorrow afternoon to highlight their progress on the missing agent. Call the number as followed if you have any information."

Spencer whispered the familiar phone number for the hotline along with the lady, having memorised it years ago. Only he never thought that it would be open for him.

A few moments later, the station switched to a song he had never heard before. Up front, he turned the radio volume back down and began to chuckle. "You think I should call that hotline? I can tell 'em I got the kid sitting right in the backseat."

Reid said nothing as he continued to chuckle. He averted his eyes away towards the back of the passenger's seat. This guy took "don't speak unless spoken to" to the extremes of "don't speak unless told to".

He eventually stopped laughing, and once again silence filled the musty air that smelled of cigarettes and sweat.

He took a deep breath. He was so tired. He hadn't slept since the night before - not to mention that it was shallow and more of a nightmare. He allowed his heavy eyelids to finally rest, and he was asleep before they passed another streetlight. Though he was asleep, his subconscious continued to count the minutes that he was in captivity.

His slumber was cut short as the man slammed on the brakes, almost throwing him off of the seat as he tried to catch himself using his incapacitated hands. Feeling that the rest replenished an important piece of his conscience, he glanced nervously at the man in the front seat. He was stocky and built strong, with dark eyes and very short, dark blonde hair, complete with a buzz cut most likely allowed to grow out for a month or two.

Now that he was aware, the pain came settling back in. In some parts of his body, it was dull and throbbing. In other parts, it was fiery and intense.

He turned to stare at Reid. What had he done now? Did he do something wrong? He held his breath in anxiety and anticipation.

To his surprise, he jumped out of the driver's seat and jogged around the hood of the car. He reached where he was leaning against and banged his fist on the rusted door, forcing him to snap out of his stupor and shuffle forward. He swung open the door, holding a pistol in one hand. He pointed it loosely near his forehead, and his eyes focused right on him. Spencer barely even flinched when he stared into the barrel. There was no use in being afraid - he knew it would only make it worse.

Spencer characterised this man as a planner with narcissistic tendencies. He appeared to be a risk taker, enjoying the task of bringing physical and mental torment. He enjoyed playing "games", weakening his target, making him feel superior to others, but he couldn't figure out what his motives were. He was too domesticated to be serial, or his team would've heard of him by now. He may have ties to other people, as Reid had caught him on the phone talking about him.

He shoved the gun roughly into his jaw, evoking a sharp grunt of pain from him and snapping him out of thought. "You. Out," he growled. "Don't try anything damn stupid. You're smart enough to understand that."

He did as he was told, sliding down the seats and out of the truck. His bare feet slapped hard against the garbage-littered street coated with a thin layer of snow, sending chills from his feet all throughout his body. The sudden temperature change woke him up a little more as his body readjusted itself to the cold.

They were in a downtown alley in an unknown city along with two huge garbage bins, the small shops and big buildings shrouding them from being seen by anyone from a fair distance away. He leaned against the vandalised brick wall for support, clumsily sliding his feet over the snow in an attempt to hold his body upright.

It must have been early morning. He did the math quickly in his head, adding the hours he's been gone with the hour he was taken. For regular Reid, it was easy math that could be done in a second. But it took him a moment to figure out that it was indeed close to four in the morning - early enough that few cars would be driving by. He knew that his kidnapper was smart, so this was no surprise.

He came close to Reid. He held something in his left hand, still gripping the pistol in his other.

"On your knees," he commanded. Reid slowly lowered himself to the ground.

"Faster!" he barked, pressing a dirty boot against his back, shoving him onto the pavement. Spencer yelped as he felt his hand cutting into a sharp and uneven ledge of the rocky ground.

Reid felt something small and cold pressed against the back of his head and heard the click of the safety go off. The gun bored into his head. He bit his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the trigger to be pulled. He was done for.

Instead of hearing the familiar ear-splitting bang of the bullet leaving the barrel, he heard the kidnapper's voice from behind. He was talking in a loud whisper but was still assertive and mean.

"You're fucking lucky I need you alive," he muttered. "But if you try anything - and I mean anything - You'll have a bullet through your brain in a split second. Understand?"

"Y-yes," he stuttered. Reid hated that he wasn't strong and defiant like Morgan or methodical and heroic like JJ. He was just a scared kid who let people push him around as if it was still high school. "I understand -"

He was interrupted by the gun being fired, followed by almost immediate unbearable pain in his knee. He toppled over onto his side, clutching his leg with his arms. He sharply inhaled to scream, but a sweaty hand muffled his voice.

Instinct took over in Spencer, and he opened his mouth wide and bit down hard, trying to at least leave him with some injuries. His attempts were cut short when he felt a hard kick to his temple, leaving him disoriented and in shock.

The man breathed heavily. "I knew you had it in you," he chuckled, rubbing his hand. He lifted his boot in the air and stomped down on his head as hard as he could, sending Spencer into unconsciousness.

* * *

 **6:00 AM**

He felt someone shaking his shoulder. It was an uncertain and cautious touch, but he was too tired to open his eyes.

Someone shook him again, much more firmly this time. He clenched his fingers together, stretching them before a truckload of memories was dumped back on his brain. Along with the memories came his pain, throbbing through his body, screaming at him to take action.

Muffled voices broke through the barrier between his mind and his body. Someone seemed to be on the phone, speaking quickly and urgently. A closer voice seemed to be talking to Spencer, reassuring him and asking him questions.

He forced his eyes open. Above him, a lady was taking off her heavy jacket and draping it over the portion of his body that it would cover. She kneeled down and stared at him, horrified.

"Can you tell me who you are?" she said slowly and clearly. "My friend is sending an ambulance. What happened to you?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but words refused to form in his throat. His eyes darted around, landing on the huge pool of blood around his leg.

His breathing quickened as he whimpered, on the verge of breaking out in panic. He was so cold.

"C-calm down, I took a - a first aid class once, I think," she stammered. "Oh, god... you aren't that missing agent, are you?"

He couldn't move his limbs. He didn't know if he was injured or just paralysed with fear. He turned his head towards the street, looking for the license plate of the grey pickup truck. Instead, he saw bystanders in small crowds muttering to one another nervously.

The distant sound of a wailing siren filled his ears before he fell back into unconsciousness, blissfully accepting the fall back into the warmer environment of unawareness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I'd really appreciate criticism and feedback. It helps make me a better writer. Drop a review or a message in my inbox!**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

Hotch sat slouched over in his office in the early morning, rubbing his temples. It had been difficult for anyone in his team to sleep recently, and just hitting the two week mark of Reid being gone sent shockwaves rippling through the entire department. Even Jack was having a difficult time - it was heartbreaking to see his face fall when Hotch had to cancel their birthday visit because they didn't know where Spencer was.

He was holding the dreaded press conference this afternoon, where he would declare the decision to call off the search parties. The odds of Spencer still being alive were barely even scraping to one percent. Having a scarce amount of knowledge on the person who took him halted any chance of getting him back - he was careful of staying in the shadows, forcing the team to deliver a limited profile.

He glanced through the open blinds of his office window towards the unoccupied desk covered in books and post-it notes. It looked like Reid had never left.

When the day had come that Reid didn't arrive to work, the team wasn't as concerned as they could've been. They postponed the surprise birthday party Garcia planned overnight around his desk. It was fine until Hotch sent JJ to investigate when they couldn't get a hold of him. She found his phone, keys and wallet dumped out close to his apartment - unattended.

All of their gifts sat around, collecting dust for about a week, before Morgan moved them into an empty conference room. JJ had addressed the elephant in the room, saying that she found them too upsetting to look at - but Hotch was sure that everyone else felt the same.

An urgent knock on his door jolted him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he called, sitting up in his seat.

Garcia stepped in, pacing around the front of his desk. "Oh, lordy…" she sighed. "Sir, someone was checked into a hospital this morning at about six, and they say he's suffered lots of cuts and - and bruises, and there's broken bones in some places and a gunshot wound. They said he's got frostbite from being exposed in the cold for _hours_ while losing blood - and oh god, they say it might be him." She ended the sentence with no breath left. "Hotch, we have to tell the rest of the team!"

Aaron stood up. Could it really be him? "Where did they find him?"

"Close to 15th and main street, still here in Quantico. some - some people found him in an alleyway, and someone posted a video to the internet - it's on it's way to going viral, but I can't watch. Just thinking about him hurt like that…"

"Garcia, I understand. I'll go find out if it's him - we don't want all of us going to find out that it's someone else. You can tell the team that there's a potential rescue. And listen -" he paused - "Don't get their hopes up, okay?"

Garcia sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir." she turned and left,walking towards the coffee machine they all crowded around each morning. On her way, she passed by the room filled with presents.

* * *

 _He stood there in shock, the deep gash on his cheek dripping blood. In a flash, He had Spencer's wrist gripped with a deadly strength. His eyes flared with unstoppable rage until Reid's hand released the box cutter._

 _Fear grew in his eyes as he tried to back away from the heavy grip, but to no avail. In one swift motion, he was grabbed by the back of his shirt's collar and dragged off of his feet._

" _Wait - what are you doing? Let go! Let go, please, I won't do it again, it was a mistake. I swear -"_

 _Reid exclaimed in surprise as his head was bumped hard against the concrete floor of the basement. He was taken up the few basement stairs, kicking his legs in an attempt get a grip on something with bare feet._

 _He struggled against his grip, but he was too weak to slip from his fist compared to the broad stance of The screen door slammed open to outside. It was dark and cold, and the heavy snow wet his pant leg. The snowflakes fell in his matted hair._

 _He was dragged around the back of the house, and tossed into a pile of hard snow and ice. He landed roughly, his knees and elbows slamming against the hard ice as his face was scraped against the crude texture of frozen snow, the top of his head slamming against a particularly hard chunk of gravel and ice._

" _Stand up," the man dictated. The gash on his jawline bled lightly, wiping off as blood red._

 _When Spencer didn't move due to the shock of the pain, he stomped closer. "I said stand up!" he roared._

 _He pulled himself to his feet clumsily, gingerly touching the side of his face. It was like a scraped knee, but with a much deeper and more intense pain. When Spencer turned to look at the snow pile, he saw crimson staining the ice eerily._

" _Walk in front of me," he commanded, pulling a gun from the belt loop of his jeans. Reid instinctively raised his hands in the air, fearing a shot that could kill him._

" _B-but the snow…"_

" _Walk."_

 _Ignoring the pain in his knees, Reid began to walk barefoot through the deep snow. He attempted to distribute the weight of his body throughout the soles of his feet, but he still sometimes fell through the bank up to the middle of his calves. They appeared to be walking in the center of a crop. Sharply cut, stiff stalks of wheat would poke his feet when they sunk through._

 _He didn't mean to disobey the unwritten rules. He didn't mean to find something he shouldn't have. Why was it his fault that the box cutter was downstairs? He should've waited before attacking._

 _He picked up a giant wad of snow and held it until his hand began stinging from the cold. He sharply inhaled as he pressed the flurries against the raw side of his face, aiming for the cold to soothe his cheek. He discarded the snow when it was stained red and grabbed new handfuls until his hands and face were numb from the repetitive act._

 _Their destination grew clear as a small barn peeked through the flurries of snow. "Are we going there?" he asked through chattering teeth, raising his arm and pointing ahead. No response was heard._

 _By the time they arrived, his feet were past the pain of the cold, instead too numb to feel. The barn was built out of dark brown-stained wood that had since rotted. Termite-like hole patterns left few planks intact. The rest were severely perforated, some holes as large as his head._

 _He watched as the doors to the old barn were swung open, revealing the poorly maintained interior to match the outside._

 _His heart began to beat faster when he spotted bloody pieces of broken glass littering the splintering floor. Snow poured in through the wide cracks in the barn, leaving the interior cold and dry. However, the most panic-inducing part had to be the suspiciously stained tables, buckets, containers, cages that lined the walls. a familiar stench came from the large buckets that filled him with dread. Spencer was obviously not this guy's first victim - but he certainly was the only living one._

 _He stepped carefully over the glass, resting his feet on the floor as lightly as he could. He heard the man behind him crushing the shards under his boots. Only a few feet into the building, Reid s_ _topped to catch his breath for a moment._

 _Unexpectedly, he kicked Reid in the lower back, sending him sprawling onto the shards. Heavy footsteps surrounded his body._

" _This is what you get for ever thinking you're in charge," he roared. he drew his foot back, landing a hard kick into Spencer's ribs. He grunted, instinctively curling into the fetal position, awaiting future attacks._

 _He was roughly grabbed by his hair, audibly wincing as he was forced to look at his captor. "I'll always be the one in charge. I have bigger plans for you, so never even fucking think_ _you have a chance."_

" _I'm - I'm sorry -" he began, but was cut off by a swift backhand that cranked his head to the left. He was dropped back onto the ground._

 _Through tears and blurry vision, Spencer saw him running towards the barn doors. Realizing what he was going to do, he scrambled to stand up, his clumsy movements forcing his skin to cut into the glass shards. He ran as fast as he can to the barn doors, hoping to somehow burst through them before they locked. To no avail, his body uselessly slammed against the wood. The doors were locked._

 _His mind raced into a frenzy of instinct and panic. He slammed his fists against the doors, shouting again and again, hoping that maybe he would be at least taken back to the basement, where it was warmer than here. His feet slid across the floor, the glass lodging in the soles._

 _His yelling eventually unravelled into sobs, and his banging into weak, open hits on the doors until the palms of his hands were red. He slid to the floor in defeat._

 _He was so cold. His tears would be frozen in a matter of minutes. With the time to settle down, he began to feel the pain._

 _His whole body hurt. He could feel his raw face, his potentially broken ribs, his skinned elbows and knees, and his stabbed feet all combining to make one agonizing pain that he wished he could escape from._

 _Reid knew there was no chance at escaping the barn alive. he knew he had to find a way to keep warm until the morning, which was when he could stand in the sun's light._

 _He scooted on his hands and knees into the corner closest to the doors, wrapping his arms around his legs while sitting up. he buried his head in the makeshift pocket his body formed, keeping him even the slightest bit warm as he fell into a restless sleep._

* * *

Spencer felt suddenly aware of his breathing.

It was a wheeze, and it hurt terribly to breathe in too much, preventing much oxygen from entering his system. His fingers felt cold and stiff, but the rest of his body was warm. Too warm.

Where was he? He didn't remember much, but he did know the extent of his injuries. What a coincidence that he was shot in the same knee as the time he defended that doctor. He made a mental note to occupy his busy brain with that injury later, to ponder it when he was having difficulties focusing.

He remembered blood. A lot of it. It wasn't a deadly wound, but it did bleed for three hours straight in weather closer to forty below zero than forty above. It was November, anyway - it got colder a lot quicker than anyone expected.

He forced his dry eyes open and squinted. As soon as he saw the fluorescent light overhead, he shut his eyes tight. He knew he was back in that basement. Oh god, what if someone else were here? When would he come downstairs to hurt him?

He felt someone touch his right arm gently. His breath hitched, and he was afraid to look in that direction. He craned his neck to the side, and counted to three in his head before he opened his eyes.

Where he lay was not the cold cement basement, but the sterile environment of a small, secluded hospital room. His vision was blurry, but his sense of smell helped him make sense of the bare blue walls.

Once his vision refocused, he noticed the occupied blue guest chair. There sat the intimidating-looking Hotch, dressed in a well tailored suit. His brow was furrowed with concern. The hand on Reid's right arm belonged to him.

"Spencer," he uttered. He nearly stood up, but hesitated when he saw Reid flinch at the sudden movement. He took it slow, eventually only getting close enough to firmly grasp his shoulder. He knew that he had personal space issues, and that this event would make it ten times worse. "You're back in Quantico - in the hospital."

"Oh," he tried to say, but nothing came out. He coughed instead - a hollow, chest-rattling cough that hurt his throat.

He couldn't think properly. Not even the most efficient parts of his brain could go faster than racing snails. What he could feel, however, was rage. Pure rage. Not a sorrowful, self-pitying rage - a feeling that was indescribable.

"What did they put me on?" he managed to say.

That was the first sentence that escaped his lips in days. There was no happy reunion between them, and no smiles evoked from Reid. He felt alienated from the rest of his team. He didn't feel at all close to home. Where was home?

"It doesn't matter right now, alright? We just want you to not be in pain."

At that moment, he heard indignant-like yelling come from outside of the hospital room. It came from a man, paired with a more collected woman's voice trying to calm him down. He recognised both of voices as his friends, but he couldn't find the strength to listen that intently to figure out who was yelling and what the argument was about.

Hotch sighed. "I'll go see what's going on, alright? Give me a minute." he left the room, leaving Spencer to listen closely for anything they were saying.

Meanwhile, Hotch had stepped out of the private hospital room to find Morgan and JJ in the heat of an argument. Derek seemed ready to knock a hospital bed over, while Jennifer seemed tense but not angry. The sound of Aaron's shoes brought both of their attention to him.

"Look! There he is," Derek fumed, pointing at Aaron. "The man waited _hours_ to even tell us that they found the kid, and now they're only letting one person in to visit?!"

"Morgan, I know it's a lot to take in, but we can't crowd him. We have no idea where he's been, or what he's been through. We don't know _anything_."

"You saw that video!" he boomed. "You saw how he looked, didn't you? I couldn't believe it was even him, and now you're telling me we have _no idea_ what he's been through? JJ, that video is making headlines and we're standing in a hallway, yelling at eachother."

"No, Morgan, you're yelling at me," she corrected him. "I haven't even thought about raising my voice yet because _we have to stay strong."_ she emphasised those last words, forcing them through her teeth.

"Both of you, that's enough." Hotch barely raised his voice, but still gave warning to the receivers.

He glanced at his watch. "It's eleven at night, and we're yelling as loud as we can in a hospital wing. You two, of _all people,_ should know better."

Silence ensued until Morgan muttered an apology.

JJ changed the subject, leaving the tenseness behind and delving into a calmer conversation. "How is he?" she asked delicately.

"Well, it's - it's a little hard to recognise him," he began. He sighed, not holding back on details

"His skin is bruised, cut, red and swollen. They have him scheduled to have a full-body wash soon, he's covered in dirt and his own blood. The gunshot to his knee had an easy surgery, so it should heal nicely. He's also on at least ten different antibiotics - he had infections all over his body. He has bronchitis and frostbite around his fingertips. He was also suffering from anemia from the severe blood loss. The doctors are shocked he isn't dead, let alone not in a coma."

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment. It was so hard to see someone everyone loved looking like this. "Listen, they found opiates in his system, and they have him on a pretty strong dose of morphine right now - otherwise, he'd be in agony. I hate that I have to say this, but we really need to watch his behavior when he gets back on his feet. You know what could happen."

JJ was visibly upset and still trying to retain all of the information she had just received. Morgan looked infuriated, but he wasn't sure how to express his rage.

"One of you can go in," he continued. "He's awake, but he isn't himself at all - I don't think he's ready for hugs or any type of physical contact. Of course, I don't blame him - but he's barely said anything." Hotch lowered his voice, feeling guilt for the poor boy. "He gave me a blank stare whenever I said anything to him. The doctors say that there will definitely be some long term effects, so we need to be there for him."

"Well, we're lucky a case hasn't come up," JJ recited. That was often what she said when they all delved into the discussion of Spencer.

"I'll go in there, alright? I'll be out soon and let you see him," Morgan said, referring to Jennifer. Without waiting for a reply, he slipped inside through the slightly ajar door.

When he glanced around the room, he first saw the depressing colours of faded blue on the walls. A steady beep came from the heart monitor beside the hospital bed, tracking vitals. And last but not least, Spencer lay once again sleeping on the bed, hooked up to IVs and tubes of all sorts. From what he could see, his face and neck were definitely the most abused. Bruises, burns, and cuts were common, but he didn't expect the sunken cheekbones, swollen eye and split lip. He felt bad for the kid.

Derek stepped outside of the room for a second to find JJ and Hotch having a discussion in hushed whispers. He cleared his throat, getting both of their attention. "He's sleeping again."

"Ah." Hotch scratched the back of his head. "Listen, Morgan, JJ and I were just discussing… do you think Reid needs a guard outside of his room?"

Derek thought for a moment. "If he was any normal victim of this level of kidnapping, would you do it?"

"Of course, but -"

"Then there's your answer."

A moment of silence was shared between the three. JJ blinked away teary eyes and cleared her throat. "Can we all go see him?"

"Yeah… I think we should call Garcia and Rossi," Hotch said. "It's going to be a long week."


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok. How do i say this? I'm so unimpressed with myself and my inability to focus on a task. I promised to update in February and it's June now - I truly apologize. I have no excuse. So heres a 4000 word count chapter that I wrote only a paragraph every week for.**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

The small, snowy window that looked towards the outside grew lighter and lighter, Reid's room slowly being pulled out of the dark. When he awoke, it was evident from the redness of his cheek from pressing hard into his hand that he had been dreaming. His eyes felt heavy and he could barely keep them open. He didn't want to move. No, he couldn't move. His one undamaged leg was numb from the loss of circulation due to the uncomfortable position he was sitting in on the floor. He wasn't sure how he got there.

Footsteps outside of the room startled Spencer. His breath hitched as the door creaked open, accompanied by a woman's voice - his nurse. She was older and sweet and had smile lines decorating her face. He felt like she just understood everything he was trying to convey that wasn't through words. She seemed to be talking to someone, but their voice was too distant to be able to pin it to it's owner.

"Dr Reid?" she called. His body was hidden behind the hospital bed. "It's eight thirty in the morning, you've got visitors. Hello?"

As she came around the corner, she clicked her tongue and came closer to him. "Listen, Dr Reid, you're being released today." She had to crouch down low to make eye contact with him to make sure he was listening. "I know I said that I wouldn't tell anyone, but this is the third time you've done this. You're completing your last set of evaluations today. Your friend is right outside waiting to bring in your clothes and take you home later. It's like a late Christmas present." She smiled.

Spencer had forgotten. He was going home today after a month of care. What would come next was extensive physical therapy for his leg, not to mention the real therapy he would need to heal the wounds he couldn't see. From the beginning, JJ and Morgan both offered to pick him up and drop him off at his apartment, and spend time with him throughout the day if he was in the mood. He'd be doing a lot of moving around on crutches to cross the hospital back and forth.

"C'mon, get up and back into your bed. Today's gonna be a long day."

As the nurse slipped out of the room with a whisper of good luck, JJ came in. She held a bag of his personal belongings, and could barely stay still as she tried to hide the smile on her face. She was so good at being a mood-changer and she lit up the world around her with her joy.

"Hey there, Spence!" JJ exclaimed.

"JJ!" Reid returned her greeting pleasantly. His voice was hoarse, but he could fix it with a clear of his throat. "Where's Morgan?"

"About that… listen - I know he promised to be here, but we've got a case in Arkansas. Hotch had me stay back with you, but no one else is here. They feel really bad for not being there - but work calls, and we're pretty short in numbers right now," she added. "But Morgan decided to join them on the trip to the state, and he told me to make sure you understand, and -"

"It's perfectly fine, okay? I promise. I can talk to him later."

She sighed in relief. "Thank you, Spencer. Oh, I brought some of your stuff. I used the spare key to your apartment you gave me and got clothes, socks, more books - and I even brought breakfast. It's your favourite kind of doughnut, and a coffee from down the hall. I knew that the hospital food here was getting extra bland."

"You didn't have to, thank you." He relieved the weight of the breakfast from her arms and carefully balanced it on his lap. He was cautious as to not tip the styrofoam cup onto his sheets.

After he chomped down on his breakfast of champions, Spencer scooted off of the bed and JJ helped him to the bathroom so he had some privacy to change into his clothes. It took him a good five minutes to pull his pants over his stiff and bandaged leg, but the rest of the process was easy enough. He fixed his hair a little bit and stared long and hard at his appearance in the mirror. His bruises and cuts were healing, and the burns were fading into scabs and scars. His pinky was no longer broken and the cast had been taken off, but it was still a little sore. He still looked malnourished and his eye was a little bit purple, but no longer swollen. It still stung when fabric brushed against the abundance of cuts and raw skin on his back, but his painkillers for his knee helped take the edge off.

When he came back out, another nurse who was far more rude waited at his door with a wheelchair. "Time to go," he yawned.

"I can walk on crutches, you know." The sentence sounded ruder than intended and had the opposite effect on the nurse's mood.

"Doesn't matter - you'll be wishing you were in this by the end of today."

JJ was confused with Reid's sudden reluctance to be cared for. Nevertheless, she tapped his shoulder. "Bring your crutches with you, we can take walks in between." Spencer hesitantly nodded before he took a seat in the chair.

* * *

"Have you been disturbed by nightmares, intrusive thoughts, flashbacks, and memories of the event?"

Spencer risked a fleeting glance out of the small window in the door. JJ would be sitting out there, waiting for him to come back out. He didn't want to be here, not at all. This was the last of his tests. He was ready to check out of this place.

"Yes, I think so," he answered. This doctor had kind eyes, smile lines and a caring personality. His hair was short, black and balding. His tie was twisted backwards. In a funny way, it helped Reid concentrate.

"Do feelings of fear or guilt plague you because of this event?" asked the doctor.

"A little," he lied. A lot. He shouldn't have been lying to the doctor, but he wanted to go home and get back to work as soon as possible.

"That's reasonable. Are your emotions more sensitive, with you becoming enraged, upset, or irritable over little things?"

Question after question, minute after minute. He answered mindlessly, dwelling on the questions only for a few seconds.

"It said on your chart you were drugged, is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you experiencing withdrawal or a craving for painkillers or other medication? There is no wrong answer."

His stomach lurched. He was surprised it took him this long to realise that years of being clean were wasted, flushed down the drain, and replaced with a want for them.

"Sir?" the doctor asked. Reid snapped out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, a little bit." his face flushed red in embarrassment and frustration.

"It's perfectly fine, it's not your fault, okay?" the doctor reassured him. "There's no need to be embarrassed or upset. You can get past it."

Spencer nodded his head, still feeling crappy enough.

"Do you almost feel like you've been unwillingly _separated_ from the causer of this traumatic event, or have feelings of remorse towards them?"

He recalled having to ask victims of long-term kidnapping a version of that question. It was to shine a light on the possibility of Stockholm syndrome. He found it phenomenal that the number of people who experience this was that high. He shook his head no.

"Alright -" he checked his clipboard for his name - "Dr Reid, We're done here. We'll call you when we want you to come back in for the results. I suppose your friend is waiting for you?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah." Reid struggled to turn the door handle while balancing his crutches under his arms, but he managed to eventually. The nurse was right - even after sitting in a wheelchair for most of the day, his knee hurt like hell after so much activity. As soon as she spotted him, JJ stood up and smiled.

"Ready to go?" she asked. "I packed up all of your stuff from the hospital room -" she held up a duffel bag - "and you know I got all of your medication earlier."

Spencer sighed. "Definitely."

* * *

He was in his complex by six at night. The normally short trip up the stairs to his apartment was full of cursing, tripping, and sweating. He wished the elevator wouldn't have so many problems all of the time, but he was sure it would be fixed by morning. "Just one more step," JJ said. She realised that even though he had used them before, Spencer sure was rusty on crutches. "And here we are - your apartment floor."

"Those stairs," Reid panted, "are so exhausting. I don't think I would've survived without you, thank you JJ."

"Oh, well," she laughed. "I'm here to help. Are you _sure_ you don't want me to stay with you? The rest of the team wants me flown to Arkansas as soon as possible, but they don't _need_ me."

"I can promise you. I'll be fine." Reid understood why she was being so attached. She knew that there was a switch in his brain that went between being functional and nonfunctional. She thought that as soon as she left, he was going to be broken again. He knew he wasn't going to be.

"Listen, Spence," she began. "I'm so proud of you. Any regular person wouldn't be walking out of the hospital anytime soon. You're so strong and I love you. You know that, right?"

"I really do JJ - I love you too."

"I need you to try to remember as much as you can, okay? I promise you, _we will find him._ "

A sudden burst of frustration overtook him. "But he could be out of the country! What if we never find him? What do I do about that?"

"Even so, I think I can live with you being not dead. And I think you can too."

Spencer opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. She had a point - a good one at that.

"Get some rest. Call me if you need anything."

He nodded and waved goodbye before closing the door.

It was just as he remembered it. It was as if he had never left. His rotting garbage was full from the month before and the receiver was still on, though the TV had turned off automatically forever ago. The place needed dusting and some unsturdy books had toppled over, but that was the extent of it.

Sleep. That was all he wanted. To fall asleep on his couch with the TV on quietly and a book in his hands would be a blessing. But first he had to shave off the stubble he'd grown for a few days, take the trash out, pick up his books, and dust off the counters. He felt overwhelmed with these simple tasks. It was impossible to shake off the feeling as he got to work. He balanced on his crutches as he bent over to pick up his books and fit them somewhere on his bookshelf. Skipping the dusting, he held his breath while he tied up his garbage bag and put it by his front door. Shaving over his scars and scabs was painful and tedious, but eventually he finished. Forgetting about his bulky crutches, he limped and hopped towards his bookshelves and selected a long read. By then, it was almost seven. He pulled the curtains together to close them and switched all of the lights off.

A weary grin crossed Spencer's face. He lied on the couch and selected his recorded _Classic Doctor Who_ marathon, quieted the volume and turned the subtitles on. He opened his book and turned page after page, until he found himself reading but not comprehending the words. His eyes became heavier and heavier and he felt the book slip out of his hands, but he didn't care enough to pick it up. It took no more than a few seconds after that before he drifted off into a restless slumber.

* * *

 _Reid was definitely late. He whispered swear words under his breath as he hailed a taxi as quickly as possible, and jumped into the car. He had only realized that he left his gun, wallet and credentials at home after he arrived to work at an early time, forcing him to have to travel back to his apartment. The ride was tedious and as soon as he arrived, he gave too much cash to the taxi driver and ran into the building. Skipping steps on the way back down, he had an idea. The metro would be difficult to catch at this time, but it was the quickest way back to work._

 _He flew out the door and into the alleyway, nearly slipping on the mid-november ice. The shortcut could save him thirty seconds._

 _A yell extremely close behind him made him swivel around and pull out his gun. It wasn't even pointed before he felt splinters enter his neck as a bat struck him hard on his jaw. Disoriented, Reid fell to the ground, gasped for air and dropped his gun. He blindly reached for it but it was picked up off of the ground. He watched a blurry silhouette examine the weapon before burying it into a deep front pocket of his jeans._

 _His eyes closed and blood rushed through his ears, but he could still hear a muffled voice by his ear. "Dr Reid. You're coming with me nice and easy, huh? You even brought me a gun," he chuckled._

 _Something stung his arm, and almost instantly thoughts began to fade from his mind. Fearing for his life went from being a necessity to an afterthought as he passed out._

 _The rest was a blur._

 _He recalled rolling and bouncing in a back seat as the twists and turns of a dirt road moved the vehicle in all directions. And he did remember scraping and wetting the back of his head while being dragged through a thin layer of snow, sharp rocks poking through the white. And through all of it as he smeared blood on the leather seats, he thought of only his family. Garcia, JJ, Emily, Morgan, Hotch, and everyone in between. He promised himself he wouldn't leave them like this._

 _When he did come to, he was lying on a table. A cold, cold metal table. Too groggy to move or focus, Reid lied there and listened to the surrounding sounds. His heart pounded in his ears. A clock ticked somewhere far away. A dog's collar jingled somewhere in the distance and it's wearer's snout sniffed around._

 _The dog barked. Spencer flinched and his eyes snapped open. He instantly regretted that decision._

" _You're awake," the man spoke. "Took ya long enough. It's already evening. Spencer Reid, right?"_

 _Reid struggled against his closing eyelids and stared at the other in the room. He tried to conceal his panic and replace it with bravery as he looked him in the eye and refused to say anything. He seemed to be examining Spencer's gun - clicking the safety on and off, looking at the clip, taking it apart and putting it back together._

" _Not gonna talk, huh?" he scoffed. "A polite 'hello' would be nice."_

 _Spencer stayed quiet longer until the captor was visibly frustrated. He noticed the thick, rusty chaind that bound his wrists together tightly._

" _Those're temporary. I gotta head to the barn and get some good handcuffs," the man snickered. "It's not like you're strong enough to get through that binding."_

 _It took a good dozen seconds of stifling silence, but finally he lost it. "Fine!" he exploded. "You can stay down here by yourself for days, hell if I care."_

 _Though those words jolted Reid awake even more and made his heart skip a beat in fear, he kept his face expressionless and stared even harder. Experience knew better than instinct. He watched as the man stormed up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. Not realizing he was holding his breath, Spencer exhaled. Dread filled every inch of his body and desperation began to settle in. What time was it? Where was he? Did anyone know he was gone? Questions screamed in his mind, but he kept his mouth shut. The first twenty four hours. Would he make it longer than that? Would he even survive that benchmark?_

 _Time passed. He wasn't sure how much - but it passed. If he listened close, he could hear the clock ticking endlessly, filling in the silence with a click every second._

 _Later, when he came down the stairs, he brought something with him. He held it close to his side so Spencer wouldn't see it. They were both quiet, but Reid tried to crane his neck around to stare with pleading eyes. He could hear him fiddling with something in his hands._

 _He took a deep breath in surprise when his hair was grabbed by tufts and pulled, jerking his head to the left. Despite his struggling, something sharp carefully poked his neck. A familiar sensation overcame his brain and his body soon after. A rush, followed by an almost immediate drowsiness. He tried to struggle against it, his subconscious screaming at his brain to panic, to do something other than just observe - but it was becoming clouded and slow._

 _He felt his body relax and go limp. Too much in him. Soon he was barely conscious as he watched the chains around his limbs loosen and fall off. He was lifted carefully but not gently out of the chair. He couldn't comprehend what was happening or where he was being taken, but it was not good._

* * *

The ticking of a clock continued back into the real world as Spencer's eyes opened to a dark apartment, the only light source coming from the cold, blue glow of his television and his window. He longed for something he refused to admit. Though he felt it in his dreams and his subconscious, he was not weak. He wouldn't acknowledge it. Light January snow outside hit the window, illuminated by the streetlights lining the road.

A pain grew stronger throughout his body, making him ache all over. That must have been what woke him up - an intense, deep pain. It harboured in his stomach and reached through his limbs, paying special attention to his bad knee, scars and cuts. He was only supposed to take more strong medication in the morning - it couldn't have worn off already. He ignored it and stood up to turn a lamp on, needing the movement to get the blood flowing through his stiff legs.

He was alone. Only illuminated by the warm, yellow light of the floor lamp. He should call his mom again - he'd only checked in with her while he was in the hospital. However, she would be sleeping now. It was pointless to call. Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers through hair due for a good trim. He felt sick - no more than a headache and some congestion. That's what a month's stay in the hospital gave him - a head cold.

He glanced at the clock on his wall, astonished to find that it was nearly four thirty in the morning. The dull ache of his body was slowly growing stronger as the medication seemed to wear away much quicker than before. However, he sat down on the couch and turned the volume of the everlasting Classic Doctor Who episodes up.

As the team failed to return in the next couple of days, Spencer spent several days and nights repeating the same process - do chores throughout the day, take the well-appreciated fixed elevator down to the ground floor to throw his trash out, and think. He did a lot of thinking - it helped him not focus on the pain in his body as his painkillers became less and less effective. He refused to take anymore than needed, if not less. Then, at the end of the day, He slept either on the couch or in his bed. He understood that he had a messed up sleep cycle - he woke every morning before five and went to bed at around one in the morning - but he got things done. He talked to JJ on the phone and Morgan liked to text him and ask about his day.

But as he sat on the steps outside of his apartment complex for some air, he knew he couldn't feel better. He was in pain all day and some of his deepest wounds would reopen, even once lightly staining his sheets with the blood that leaked. That kind of pain required more pills, more medication - but it shouldn't have been hurting that much.

He pulled his phone out and messaged Derek.

 _How's the case?_ He typed. Surprisingly, the three-dotted bubble popped up almost immediately.

 _Very good. It's even better when you're home and safe in your warm racecar bed_. _We should be home tomorrow._

Reid grinned. Of course Morgan would make fun of him. _I need to talk to you,_ he typed. _When you get back?_

 _What's wrong?_ Morgan answered.

 _Nothing, I promise. Just stop by whenever._

 _Got it. Read some books to fuel that brain of yours. Garcia says hi._

 _Bye,_ Reid typed. No response.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fuck me it's been months**

 **Pls don't yell at me**

 **The beginning of this chapter was painful to write this is the like fourth and final draft I made of it**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

As soon as Derek knocked on Spencer's door in the late afternoon, he heard rustling coming from inside and a few swears. Something heavy thumped on the ground and Morgan was ready to knock again before the door opened. The boy looked well-kempt, but dark circles gave away the signs of little sleep. The glaze over his eyes was as apparent as ever. Unsurprising, but something else was off about him.

"Morgan," he said matter-of-factly.

"Spencer. I feel so horrible for the team having to get up and go like that - you need to be around people and no one was there. Even JJ came with us. And I know that we were a day or two late after when I said we were coming back, stuff just came up, and I told the rest of the team not to crowd you by showing up at once -"

"I need to talk to you," Spencer blurted.

* * *

Reid sat down on his couch with Morgan and sighed heavily, as if he had been running uphill for a couple of miles and just took a well-deserved break. "Don't -" he hesitated - "just don't tell the others. I'm talking to you because I trust you." Spencer stared out the window at the Christmas lights hanging over his neighbour's balcony rail.

"Hey, woah. You can trust me, but what's bothering you so much?" Morgan looked him in the eye.

One glance at him and everything seemed to pour from the kid's mouth. "I've been trying so hard not to, but I've been struggling with my pain and my PTSD and my medication and oh _god_ , it's so hard to manage, you wouldn't even know. And I know I'm not hurting, but my brain is convinced that I am, and I try to substitute the painkillers with tylenol but it doesn't work and it just doesn't _take._ So I fight with myself on taking more because I know it will lead me down a dangerous path, and, and…" he inhaled so deeply Derek was sure that his lungs might explode.

"Spencer... " He began, but lost the words he was trying to convey. It took him a moment to construct a sentence with a point. "You are so good. You're amazing, and strong, and so, _so_ good. Even you being conscious that this is happening and knowing that you're trying to find solutions to it is so good."

He paused. Reid was nearly on the verge of tears. He'd had weeks and weeks to dwell on this and no one to talk to about it.

"This is not your fault. Do not even consider thinking that it's your fault. Do you understand? You and I, we'll get through this together. Alright?"

"I just keep thinking," Spencer whispered. "Years. I was clean for years. I hit rough patches sometimes, but I never broke this winning streak. Then this happens. And it's like the victory was ripped from me, and replaced with a pitiful need for an escape.

"And it's hopeless!" His voice suddenly raised to a near-yell. "I'm so angry at myself, and at you guys, and _him."_ He spat out the last word. "I have to find him. I need to show him what he did to me and I'll make him pay. Because - because it hurts," he said, voice breaking. "It hurts. And I've been hurting so much more ever since that ambulance picked me up in the snow. Since that video was posted to the internet. Since I called my mom, and she couldn't even contain herself because she was having an episode and yelling about how things like this would happen to me if I went out past dark without my dad."

"Listen to me. Look at me." Derek held a firm grip on Spencer's hand with both of his fists. "You and I? We're gonna fight this battle together. And I'll be there every step of the way. So will Rossi, and Hotch, and Garcia, and JJ. _We_ are your family. We know that you're angry. We know that you're hurting. And we can't stop that from happening, but we can be here while it happens and help you through it. I can help you now, and I can help you when you call. And I will sit with you, Spencer, for hours if I have to. Just to help you fight it."

They sat there in silence, undisturbed, for a very long time. Eventually, Morgan stood up. Reid could tell by the sun setting outside that it was time for him to go home to his girlfriend.

As Spencer followed him to the door, he could see the empathy in Derek's eyes. those eyes felt his pain as if it was his own. It was useless sometimes, but it seemed to help. It soothed. It healed. Not entirely, but it was better than open wounds.

"I need you to promise you'll text me if you're ever in trouble or in need of a friend. I'll be on call,okay? I'm serious. Everything is fine. Even if it isn't, everything is going to be okay. It takes time to realize and it takes time to soak into that beautiful brain of yours, but be patient. You're safe here. Anything you need or want - I'm here."

As he shut the door, those words echoed in his mind.

 _I'm here._

 _We're here._

And he knew that it was the truth.

* * *

 **FOUR MONTHS LATER**

" _I'll gut you. I swear I will. Like a pig in a slaughterhouse, I'll turn you inside out and rip you apart, piece by piece. And I'll make you watch!"_

 _Spencer cried out in terror, crawling as far away as he could from the man in front of him. He was dead. This was his time. He heard himself babbling, begging for mercy, pleading. Though he was a man of science, he prayed to no god in particular for anything better than this. Anything._

 _A kick snapped his neck so far backward that he knew he had whiplash when the back of his head slammed against the ground. His ears rang. His head felt wet in the back and he knew it was blood when he withdrew his fingers. He was not prepared for the hit to his stomach that made him close to vomiting the contents of his empty stomach. He knew that he would die slowly and painfully drenched in his own throw-up and blood and tears, lying in the dirt._

 _Why now? It was only his second day. Too soon. Or too late. He wasn't sure what the right answer was._

 _A hand grabbed his hair and yanked it until he sat up. The hand's owner crouched and stared at Spencer. He laughed, a sinister guffaw that sent chills down his spine. His face began to warp into a cobra's and his teeth became long and sharp as they clamped down on him - before he knew it, he was back on the ground clutching his throat for air as it convulsed in pain and it hurt so much. He couldn't breathe because his neck was filled with blood and it overflowed into the grass. His mouth was open and gasping -_

He awoke choking. A whoosh of beautiful, fresh, amazing air filled his lungs and Spencer felt so, so relieved. He reached over to his nightstand past the alarm clock that read **4:30 AM** , flicked his lamp on and dragged a notebook and pen onto his bed. He opened to a fresh page and scrawled down another set of notes on his dreams. It took place on the night of day two out of fifteen. He wrote down the behaviours of the environment around him and especially the unsub.

 _The unsub_. Was he really? Reid had started thinking about himself as the victim of another case for the team to study and solve. But he had not went as far as to call him "the unsub". However, it undermined his power to strike fear into Spencer's soul. His unrelenting psychopathy. It fit well. What else could he call him? There weren't a lot of names for people like him. He flipped through the endless scrawling of half-asleep notes, almost completely filling the notebook. At the back were rough sketches of the house, the unsub's face, and his truck. Half of the license plate was scribbled out and rewritten over and over again. He hated himself for never getting a good look at the numbers and letters - how had it never crossed his mind?

Today was a special day. What was it? Something was happening in his life. He glanced at the shirt and tie on the chair in the corner of the room and remembered. His reinstatement was today - he was going back to work. For the first time. In months.

Shit.

It wasn't too long before he was picked up by Rossi. Running on five hours of sleep did not sound pleasant, but he was sure he couldn't go back to bed by now. Instead, he sat up, ruffled his hair, and reached for his cane. Spencer was sick of it, but it made walking easy. In the bathroom, he did his business and looked in the mirror for a long time. Although he wasn't as skinny as a rail anymore, Reid never managed to put the pounds again and just barely looked like his regular self. It was always blamed on his eating schedule, although he ate pretty normally - the culprit was unknown. He examined his scars, his facial features and his barely-there stubble that he shaved yesterday among other things. His fingers reached the back of his head as he thought of his nightmare. No blood there, nothing but a small dimple in the skin from the scar tissue. It did happen. But he didn't recall the unsub turning into a snake, of course - he instead remembered instead being knocked out and taken back inside. He rubbed his eyes and started his shower, stripping down and stepping in. The water was scalding.

When he was clean and dry, a single word crossed his mind: coffee. That's what he needed.

Spencer flicked the lights on throughout his apartment. His philosophy was that if his surroundings were awake, he was awake. He flicked the coffeemaker on absentmindedly and rummaged in his cupboards for the instant coffee pods. He enjoyed the Dunkin' Donuts brand the most. By the time he got comfortable on his couch with a cup of coffee and a piece of almost-stale toast with jam and butter, it was already five fifteen. No worries, though - he knew that he was able to get ready and out of the house in ten minutes.

His recently-diagnosed anxiety really began to peak when he tied his tie. Such a simple and repetitive act that should have felt like nothing to him, but instead represented something much more complicated and difficult. It couldn't be explained by his mind but it was expressed by his emotions. By now Rossi would be on his way, and possibly a little bit early. The team did not want him riding the transit on his way to work for a couple of reasons, one being that they did not want him to feel lost and alone, the next being that large crowds of people terrified him, and last being that the unsub knew where he lived, when he took the transit, and his daily routine. He would need to change what he could. Spencer wasn't going to move, but he would make sure that his doors and windows were locked all of the time.

The lump in his throat grew larger when he packed his badge and gun. It gave him the chills when he thought about the unsub still having his old firearm. But he couldn't think about that right now; he needed to focus on other things - like Rossi driving into his parking lot and honking twice. Reid took a deep breath, grabbed his cane, and locked his apartment door behind him.

Time seemed to slow as he walked down the steps to the ground floor. He could run back up the steps right now and head back inside to his apartment. His job was the reason he was like this; why did he want to go back to it? But while he doubted himself, he remembered what Emily told him when they video chatted - he can't let him win. If Spencer ever wanted to live in peace, he had to find the guy who did this to him. And the only way to do that was to join together with his friends who would always love and support him. And with that in mind, he pulled himself together and walked out the door.

The bright sun beat down on the black pavement, melting any leftover snow from the wintertime. They were having a very unusual April heat wave and Spencer would be dying in his work apparel, but the BAU office was kept cool. Rossi opened the car door and climbed out, his thick-framed sunglasses shielding his eyes. But the smug grin on his face gave away how overjoyed he was.

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again, that cane makes you look like a wise old guy like me. Except I've got classier taste," he teased.

Reid suppressed his anxiety and kept things casual. "Thanks Rossi, but I'm ready to ditch this thing. Sure it helps with the pressure, but it's pretty annoying. One day, I'll tell my kids the story of my knee being shot through twice."

They climbed into the vehicle. Spencer pulled the seatbelt across his chest as the car began to move.

"So… kids with who?" Rossi asked.

"No, I-I haven't met anyone," Reid stammered. "I've just… really been thinking about my future. 'Cause it might not happen, y'know?"

"What makes you say that?" Rossi didn't take his eyes off of the bumpy downtown road.

"Listen…" Spencer quieted his voice and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I feel it. I think he's watching me. I might be paranoid, and I have no evidence, but it's just this gut feeling. I've told JJ, Morgan, Hotch - Garcia even offered to put security cameras in my apartment."

"Hey. I believe you, but you can't go on with this gut feeling getting you all anxious. We're working on it. The FBI is working on it. We're gonna catch this sucker, I promise."

The conversation was over. The rest of the car trip was in silence. When they finally arrived at the huge building, he could feel his heartbeat quickening. He was anxious - in a good or bad way, he couldn't tell. But he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he pulled the glass doors open. Instantly, he was greeted by men and women in suits maneuvering around the first floor, talking to the receptionists, or making a call on their phones - some all at once. A grateful Reid was ushered through the crowd and into the elevators.

On the way up, Rossi kept staring at him, trying to make eye contact. But Spencer couldn't bring himself to look up from his feet. He was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve and he he kept brushing his hair out of his face. He had been through more than Rossi had in his lifetime - including three divorces and a myriad of crime cases - and he was only half his age. The elevator doors slid open, and he seemed to make a point of walking beside Reid. Down the hall was Hotch, waiting for them. He smiled at Spencer, who was too busy counting the specks of dirt on the carpet to occupy himself instead of waving back.

He was met with applause when the three of them entered the large pen of the BAU. It was unexpected and made him jump, but he sheepishly grinned and waved. One he got there, he found that his desk was littered with sticky notes, books, "get well soon" cards, and old birthday and Christmas presents that he insisted waited at the office until he began to work again. Everything felt the same but so different. He was approached by Morgan with a huge hug and a pat on the back. Reid tried to convey to him that he did not want that close of physical contact, but he almost felt like it would hurt Derek's feelings not to hug back.

"You ready to get into work?" He asked. The huge smile on his face made Spencer smile too. "It's so dull and quiet without you around, kid. Lucky for you, we've got a case already. The rest of the team's waiting for us." Morgan suddenly lowered his tone of voice. "Hey, if at any point you start to feel, maybe, woozy or upset over _anything_ , you can tell me. I've got your back, 'kay?"

"Yup." Spencer nodded and headed in the direction of the briefing room. _Your anxiety is showing,_ he told himself. _You're too quiet. Too obvious._ _Grow up._

He only let himself let out a short, quiet sigh to relieve the imaginary pressure that his brain was creating for himself. It seemed like he was tired and distracted all of the time, and it was true - he'd been like this ever since he was a child. But it was worse now, when all that was on his mind was how he could possibly catch his unsub. Luring felt wrong and dangerous, but letting him hurt someone else was not something he could stand for. Finding him would be difficult -

"Reid? Spencer?"

Back in reality, he found himself sitting in his briefing chair. The whole team was looking at him as if he were meant to answer an unknown question with intuition and certainty - but he wasn't sure what was going on at all. His bottom lip was red and stung from biting down on it too hard. Garcia spoke up a few moments after JJ had called out to him.

"Hey. Welcome back to Earth. We were just saying 'congratulations on your return to the FBI, Reid!'. We missed your brains, boy wonder. However, the same could be said for the victims of this case - and it's a shocker." She began showing the evidence photos behind her. "Three unidentified female bodies have been found floating in ponds and rivers belonging to public parks, headless and, er, unclothed."

The closeups made Spencer feel stranger than usual. Before, he was indifferent to the images, but now he was unsettled by the unruly sight of them. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pictures and they drowned out anything else - they seemed to lean into his brain. It wasn't until Hotch said "wheels up in thirty" that the real world seemed to come flowing back in. He missed the case details. He didn't ask questions. He needed to step up his game.

Spencer grabbed his overnight baggage and sat down at his desk for the first time in months while waiting to be called down to board the private jet. It still felt the same, and the view was as normal as it could get. But he couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling at the back of his head; was he ready to do this? Was he putting himself in danger? Did any of this matter?

The answer became clear to him when he saw Morgan and Garcia laughing together, JJ talking on the phone to Will, and Rossi and Hotch sharing some old-man banter. That was when he knew that this was meant to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Short but I wanted to get into a one per month upload schedule maybe**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

Spencer and Morgan drove down the highway towards the case's unsub's location at a faster speed than the other cars on the road, the radio chatter in the background filling the concentrated silence. The bad feeling in his stomach became harder to ignore every second that they grew closer to the exit into the rural neighbourhood. His hands began to sweat as the vehicle veered to the right until they straightened out onto a dirt road. Reid could feel every little thing touching him. The things that annoyed him the most - like the fabric of his bulletproof vest, the seat belt digging into his neck, and the weight of his gun in his holster - were very prominent.

"How's it going for you, out on the field?" Derek asked without glancing over. He kept his eyes on the road as they sped ahead, sirens wailing. "I can smell that you're a nervous wreck right now. Dr. Reid hand sweat." No one laughed.

"I'm fine," he responded curtly before rethinking his answer. "After the headlines stopped showing up, I just sat around for a few months, just wanting to step back into the work. But now that I'm here, it's just a little weird being back on the job for a few days and already being the first ones to respond to the situation."

"I can promise you, they only sent us so quickly because we were the closest. The others are coming soon, I swear."

Spencer was silent until they took a sharp left turn down onto trimmed grass, which turned into untrimmed grass, and then into tall weeds and wildflowers. Once they reached the location nearest to the ditch's creek, they both jumped out of the vehicle with their guns out and ready.

A loud bang echoed through the air and made Reid jump. Morgan was calling to him to go through the creek in between his reports of fired shots. "I'll follow you. Go!"

Spencer ran as fast as he could with his bad leg, using the trees as cover as he crossed the cold, flowing water filled with cattails and rocks. It was somewhat refreshing to feel the splash of coolness on his skin when his bullet vest always made the hot nights even hotter. A blood-curdling scream cut through the air and Reid ran even faster. He heard the water splashing behind him, which was probably and hopefully Morgan. The struggle grew louder and louder when he approached the final barrier of trees protecting him from being seen. The lady, no more than twenty, was lying curled up on the ground. The unsub was standing over her with a shotgun pointed at her.

Elton Murroe was an unstable young man further disturbed by the death of his cousin in recent weeks, who had abused him psychologically for years as a teenager. The most significant damage done to him was being forced to behead animals in the forest behind their house - and eventually, was forced to do the same to the household cat. His mom knew that it was happening, and didn't even try to stop it. He had a childhood so bad that Reid couldn't even imagine what it would be like. That was the exact profile that they had delivered to the public, and a tip from the hotlines gave them his location.

"Don't move," Morgan harshly whispered behind him. "Just wait."

The unsub turned and observed the area. Derek was smart and had turned off tthe vehicle headlights, the only evidence of their presence now being the barely-there rustle of the leaves around them.

"P-please… I'm begging you…"

"Three," Morgan whispered. "Two… one."

Both him and Spencer jumped out of the bushes. "Elton Murroe, FBI! Drop it!" Reid yelled.

Murroe was quick and roughly pulled the girl up by her shoulder, butt of the shotgun acting as a restraint nestled under her neck. "You don't understand. I have to do this."

"For who, Elton?" Morgan asked with urgency.

"For him," he cried. "It's all him."

"Put the gun down, Elton. Your cousin is gone. He isn't here to tell you what to do."

A look of true confusion passed over his face. "My cousin?" he asked. "Oh no… got it all wrong…" his words turned into muttering that was too quiet to hear.

The victim looked Reid in the eye. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears and puffy from crying too hard. A deep lash was visible bleeding beside her ear, which had probably caused the scream across the field. Sirens wailed in the distance, and Spencer nodded to the girl to let her know that there were people coming for her. In the distance, he heard the rest of his team splashing through the water down the creek, and the bushes rustling behind him. It wasn't long before JJ, Hotch and Rossi surrounded the unsub.

Morgan was wary. "Alright, then who's the one making you do this?"

"Silly," Elton chided. "You there… with the hair. You look heavy. Like you're carrying something like I do."

"I don't know what you mean, Elton," Reid responded, although his mind began to assume the worst about Murroe.

"You've been hurt, and saved, and then hurt and saved again…" he continued, digging the butt of the shotgun deeper into her neck as the team closed in on him. "...and the cycle will repeat, just like mine. And then he will come, and hurt you, then save you… or has he already?"

Spencer's mind swarmed with fear and confusion, but he didn't let his face show it. Sweat dripped down his neck and he unsuccessfully tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "You… what?"

The unsub smiled and shook his head at his vague question.

"Stop it," Morgan demanded. The tone of his voice suggested that he was very concerned about Spencer's focus, or lack thereof.

The smile turned into giggling, and that into laughter - and then it all happened so fast. Murroe maneuvered his body away from the victim to grab the shotgun and pull the trigger. But before he could grip the handle, Spencer took his shot. It was risky, but it hit the target - the bullet hole went through his temple. His body fell to the ground. and the lady ran forward.

The team moved inwards. The victim began to cry out of gratitude and terror. Morgan urgently talked to Reid beside him, but he couldn't hear anything. There was a distinct ringing sound in his ears and his hands shook so much that he dropped his pistol. He killed someone. Took a life. He was aiming for the shoulder. The worst part was that he had done it before - so why was it so hard now?

He looked down at his hands. If he had missed, he would have hit the victim. She would have died. Why was it up to him to decide life or death? Why did any human have that power? He had so many questions - how did Elton know his history? Why was he so lightheaded? He stumbled backwards.

"Spencer." A firm hand gripped his arm. It was a concerned Hotch staring into his eyes. "Walk with me. We can talk in the vehicle. The team can handle this situation."

Reid complied without a word. He picked up his gun and shook himself out of some of the shock. When he looked back, it was too dark to see, but he could feel that the entire team had their eyes on his him. He was in trouble - not only had he barely cleared his psych test, but now the results were affecting his performance in the field. He didn't want to be the PTSD-ridden agent who had to sit at home or in the office sorting files or reading books to himself. He loved the action, and he was surely going to fight against being kicked off of the team if it came down to it.

Hotch was quiet on the way back to the SUV, except from the groaning from him as he reacted to the water sloshing in his shoes. When Reid and Aaron climbed in, he braced himself for the talk about the conditions of performing on the field.

"Spencer, you need to be careful," Hotch said through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, I know." He looked up from his hands and expected to see a stern, stony face. Instead what he saw was his afraid boss staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.

"We heard all of it. He knew things about you. And I don't know how to exactly interpret what he said, but he knew something that we don't. We're still working your case, Spencer. It never closed. But we can't help you if you don't tell us everything - and I mean absolutely _everything_ \- about what happened in those two weeks."

"I told you, can't remember half of it," Spencer repeated for the hundredth time. He was so frustrated with the demand to remember. "I blocked all of it it out when it got too hard to deal with. I'm trying, I swear -

"For _god's_ sake, Reid!" Hotch's voice rose to a yell without warning. Spencer instinctively tried to make himself smaller as his words hit him like a truck. "You are not trying! You are not doing anything for us that will help us out, and you won't even show us your dream logs because they're 'too private'? Get over it!"

Where did this come from? Since when was he so angry at him? Who was he to yell at him? Over the past few months, the frustration and rage that had been building up inside of him was brought to light for a moment.

"'Get over it', Hotch?!" Spencer yelled back. "You want me to get over nearly dying from a forced overdose? You want me to get over being beaten and locked up and dragged and cut over and over and _over_ again until I pass out? You want me to get over the countless hours I've stayed awake wondering why, why did this happen to me? And why can't I do the most basic things like stand in large groups of people and carry on long conversations? I don't know where the hell this came from, _Aaron_ -" He spat out his name - "But if you can't deal with me, then go ahead. Fire me and drop the damned case. Leave me jobless and struggling with so many things in my head that I'll be on the streets in a month. And _that's_ when I'm not safe, Hotch. That's when he'll find me and that's where he'll get me. So screw you, Aaron Hotchner. Screw you. And sure, take the stupid book. Then leave me alone."

Spencer watched the surprise and guilt cross his face. "Reid, no, I didn't mean it like that -" he began, but he had already slammed the car door and stomped off back towards the crime scene.

* * *

"What were you thinking?!" JJ exclaimed the next early morning in Aaron's office. "How could you have snapped at him like that? He's trying his hardest to get back into our world after being stuck in hell for two weeks and isolated for the next half year. It's hard enough for him as it is with the trauma and anxiety, and especially with you rushing him to get better and to feel like our Spencer again. He's upset, he's hurt and now he isn't talking to us. And here's something you should know, Hotch. He will _never_ be the same again! This isn't something he can just shake off and pretend that it didn't happen! He is downright traumatized and we can't even begin to comprehend what is going on inside of his head, profilers or not. You heard what the unsub said to him. You saw how his hands shook and his eyes got wide when he shot Murroe. You knew that he was on the verge of a panic attack, and you went ahead and forgot about your professionalism instead of consoling him."

"We're under a lot of stress, Jennifer. I had a moment, and I regret yelling at him," he quietly stated with underlying intensity. "We need to get working on his case now and we need to get all of the evidence we can if we ever want to find this guy. Reid knows nothing about him, we know nothing about him. I want you to ask Spencer if he would do a cognitive interview with you today."

JJ opened her mouth to say something, but she bit her tongue. His tone made it clear that this conversation was over. "Okay." She swiveled and walked out the door.

"Wait," Hotch called, and she peeked her head into the room. "Tell him I'm sorry. I mean it."

She nodded and left.


	6. Chapter 6 & BIG UPDATE & DESCISION

**IMPORTANT: Here's a reason why this and the last chapter was so short: Along with changing title description and cover image, over the past couple of weeks I've been rereading my story and changing subtle details that are huge to the timeline. I was a mess and did not keep track of what I had written down, so for example, the amount of time Reid was home was between two to four months, and since he was hospitalized at the very end of November for a month, he got out around the beginning of January. Therefore, he would return to work from Feb - April, right? Nope. I wrote in chapter four that it was August without even thinking. So you don't have to read the whole story over again, I made a clean timeline to follow:**

 **Beginning - 11/15 (Reid's birthday that day, poor kid). Captive next 14 days until 11/29  
** **11/30 - 01/02: Hospital for 34 days  
** **Jan-April 8th: Home for 4 months 6 days  
** **April 9th: begins work  
** **Entire story will take place over a year.  
**

 **This chapter was more of an update but I wanted to give you guys some content to keep the flow going.**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

"Close your eyes," JJ said softly. Her voice had always been the most soothing out of the rest of the team because it could make anyone feel warm and welcome, or calm anyone down. Tucked under her arm was Spencer's journal, filled with the illustrations, recorded dreams and scribbles that Hotch wanted so desperately. She promised to keep it away from anyone except Aaron, who had formally apologized to Reid the day after their argument, and return it soon.

The last time (and what he had hoped was the very last time) Spencer had tried to do a cognitive interview, he was in the hospital. He was still on painkillers at the time, so it was all kind of a daze - but he did recall his worrisome panic and Morgan begging Rossi to stop. He denied all future requests, and although it took him around four days to agree to this one, the persuasiveness of Jennifer got the best of him.

When he looked out into the office, he saw Morgan and Garcia looking at him. However, he ignored their intense stare and shut his eyes tight, blocking out the late morning light from the window and the harsh fluorescents above.

"Good. Now relax and forget that we're here. We're going to go back to where things begin to get fuzzy in your memory. Do you remember when?"

"Day four, maybe," Spencer said. "I'm not sure."

"If you're not sure, then that's a good place to start. What's the last thing you remember?"

"He wakes me up in the barn, the one I told you about. The one I saw after I hurt him. He's calmer now, easy to work with. I'm... frozen. I have to peel my eyelids apart. My joints are stiff, the tips of my fingers and toes are almost blue and my ears are numb." He clasped his hands together as if he was trying to warm the imaginary fingers.

JJ clicked her tongue. Reid knew it hurt her heart to hear this. "What does he look like?"

Spencer furrowed his brow. "Bigger than me. Not just physically, but it's like he knows that he has an advantage over me. His face is bandaged where I cut him. He tells me to get up, to walk back to the house. But I'm still stiff and hurting and it's a good ten minute walk, so I don't move. He's really strong, and instead picks me up and takes me back…"

"You're doing great. Keep going."

"I remember thinking that he must be some kind of hermit, because there's no one to be seen anywhere and there's not even a proper driveway to the house. When I'm inside, it's warm, but I'm back in the basement now, tied up again. I ask for anything to warm my toes and my fingers, like a warm washcloth. He… he tells me that I don't get anything and that he doesn't care if my fingers fall off. I know that they won't, because they're looking better. Then… then…" He struggled to continue the thought. "I can't remember any more." He opened his eyes. Stupid. Useless information. That's not what she wants.

"Reid, I know that you blocked these things out. But I need you to get past that barrier. It might hurt you, but I promise you that it's in the past and it can't hurt you.

Without words, he shut his eyes tight and concentrated. "There's the drug. He puts it in the crook of my elbow, but not all of it, so I'm still conscious. He walks up the stairs to retrieve something, and I'm willing myself to tune out whatever is about to happen."

"Tell me when you need to stop."

"He comes back. He's got a fireplace poker. It's red hot." He shifted in his seat and gripped the edges of the table as if he was about to fall out of his chair. "What are you doing? He doesn't say anything. I'm getting drowsy and the world is spinning but instead he taps my cheek to keep me awake. He's asking me… asking me for my name."

JJ leaned in close to Spencer. She could see the bags under his eyes becoming more apparent as his eyelids scrunched together and his knuckles turning white with his grip on the table. Morgan and Garcia stared at her and when she glanced at them, Derek even shook his head. He wanted her to stop, but Reid had agreed to this. He couldn't stop now when they were so close to learning something - a motive, a trait, a purpose.

"Are you still there?" Spencer asked, almost desperately.

"I never left. What did you say, Spence?"

"I…" he began, fumbling for words. "I'm reacting to it. I'm confused. Spencer Reid, I say. He brings the poker close and my eyes close now. But he says 'tell me'. I feel him grab my hand. Why? I told you my name. My hand… palm towards the rods..."

As soon as he felt the phantom pain he opened his eyes, and with an alarming calamity, said "I don't want to be there." When he glanced down at the two small, circular scars on the meaty part of his palm, he saw just how badly his hand shook. He pulled it off of the table and cradled it on his lap.

"That was really good, Spencer - seriously. But we need to know more. Can you do that for us?"

He nodded his head slowly and tried to once again immerse himself in the memory, but he had misplaced it in the hoard of lost thoughts."I'm sorry," he concluded after telling JJ what had happened.

"Nothing to be sorry about. We''ll try again tomorrow, okay?"

He agreed to that.

* * *

 **ALSO! VERY IMPORTANT. I want viewer's feedback on what you guys want for this story. I have the (what was supposed to be) second half of this chapter already written, with more of an X-Files ish vibe for the connection between Reid and the unsub but if you guys want a regular story with no "wait, could that happen in real life?" moments, thats okay too. Please please PLEASE PM me or write a review with your opinion!**

 **-AndEverythingNicely**


	7. Chapter 7

**FUCK EXAMS CAUGHT UP WITH ME! Thats the latest excuse. Y** **ou guys should watch Mindhunter it's real good.**

 _ **The x-files theme begins to play very far away.**_

 **TW: Mentions of vomit**

 **\- AndEverythingNicely**

* * *

"You need to see through it, Spencer." JJ placed her hand on top of his. It was the second cognitive interview between the two agents, and it would not be their last. It had been going on for around ten minutes and work was soon to end, but there would always be time to help her friend in need. Jennifer felt so terrible and guilty for putting Spencer through all of this again, and allowing his emotions to bubble up and boil over was the last thing that she wanted to do - but they were still stuck in the same place as before, and she was running out of time.

"Your name. Why did he ask you? Think for me, Reid."

"I don't know!" he exclaimed, eyes now open and wide, staring right at her. "He knows my name. I know he knows it. But he's after something else. I just need to find out what."

"Spence," she cooed. "Please. Sit down."

"No, JJ, I am done. I-I can't feel that again." He stood and winced at the sudden pressure on his leg.

"I can help you, hold on -"

"I'm fine," he rudely reassured her, extending his hand outwards as to stop her in her tracks. Despite what he thought, Spencer could now be quite scary when he was provoked, even with his slimmer figure. If his brain-power alone was intimidating to some, it wasn't hard to imagine what he could do under negative pressure. He had undergone many physical changes when he disappeared, but everyone seemed to forget the emotional ones.

JJ left the room a little while after Spencer had exited, looking a little frazzled. When finally back at her desk and getting ready to leave, Rossi came up behind her and put a hand on her chair.

"Jennifer…" He began. He didn't use her first name often, and that was when she understood that he was serious. "He's not doing so hot, is he?"

"No," she sighed. "He can't get through this one part in the cognitive. It hurts me to hurt him so much, but I know that we're close to an answer."

"An answer to what, exactly?"

She blew a piece of hair out of her face with a strong breath of air. "All of this, I guess? The reason why… why this is happening. The reason why he's been hurt. Was it this job? Was it personal? Or just chance?"

Rossi shook his head. "The kid thinks that he can't keep doing it. I can tell. He's irritated, moody, tense... he hates what you're making him do. But he knows that it's a sort of, ah, necessary evil."

"I'm picking him up for work again tomorrow. He doesn't seem to understand that leaving our interactions in frustration makes everything so awkward sometimes." JJ took a final glance at her desk, picked up a familiar journal and tapped it lightly before tucking it into her bag.

"He gave it to you?"

"Yeah, actually. He says he wants Hotch to have it, but I knew he doesn't. I'm taking it home with me and sorting through the information for him and giving it straight back to him." She smiled. "It's nice to help him, even when he says he doesn't want it. It gives me something to do other than worry about him."

"I'm glad that he has you, JJ. Head home soon. Eat dinner. Have fun."

"Yeah. Oh, Rossi?"

"Mhm?"

"Don't tell either of them about the journal. I don't think they would be too happy."

"So manipulative," he smiled. "Goodnight."

* * *

When he was finally home, Spencer ate whatever sad leftovers he had in his fridge for dinner. Any resentment and frustration he had towards himself or JJ dissolved as soon as he let himself feel a little tired. Any adrenaline he had completely disappeared as he set down his gun, holster and badge down on his nightstand, and climbed into bed. Work was exhausting him, and he found that the strain on his leg made everything - and he meant everything - even more difficult. He read through a mere fifteen chapters of a book before he found himself drifting off into sleep at around eight. Not late, he thought, but way too early.

"Whatever," he muttered, and rolled over into deep slumber.

Unexpectedly, he didn't have a nightmare. He dreamt normally. He slept through most of the night, only waking up a few times in anxious paranoia, a habit he had picked up when he needed to make sure he was awake to decrease his vulnerability. Despite his gun always resting by his bedside in it's holster, his sleep was not overly peaceful; he found that he kept tossing and turning, getting neck pains, leg pains, phantom pains and every other kind of ache he could possibly imagine.

It was nearing three a.m. when it happened. Deep in a dream of a non-specific past case, he found himself sitting around the roundtable and discussing a few relevant details to a victim's M.O. with the team. Suddenly, a room at the end of the hall with an open door had stuck out to him like a sore thumb. He didn't remember this happening in the memory, but it was like he was being pulled towards it. Once inside, he found that it was completely unoccupied - not a single desk or item was within the room, leaving the bare walls unnaturally exposed. Despite the emptiness of the room, he could definitely feel something behind him. In the corner of his eye, just a speck of movement caught his attention, and when he swiveled around just a second too late, someone had whispered something in his ear and disappeared. The hot breath with a stench of a stale ashtray brushed against his cheek and he could almost hear a sneer in the voice; and in a panic, he realized that it was too real to be a part of his dream.

With a startled yell, he sat up too quickly and felt a sharp pain in the front of his skull. Nevertheless, he frantically turned his lamp on and grabbed his gun off of his nightstand, very prepared to aim and fire. There was no one there - not even a hint of any human presence except his own.

"Stop doing that," he muttered to himself.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his cane, and limped to his kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee - because if he was going to be paranoid, he was going to be paranoid and awake - and he turned a few lights on. However, Spencer found that his headache persisted and grew stronger the longer he held his eyes open against the brightness.

"Haven't had a migraine in years," he sighed. "Walk it off."

While the coffee dripped into the pot, Spencer peered out of the window. It was a starless, pitch-black April night that made him feel like anything could happen. A sudden feeling of lightheadedness made him step back from the window unexpectedly as if a cold gust of air had passed through his body. He began to see the familiar dark spots in his peripheral vision and made the wise decision to fetch a Tylenol from the medicine cabinet. But even as he grabbed the small little red tablet and made his way from the bathroom to grab his coffee to wash it down, his limbs felt unusually heavy and the urge to vomit grew stronger.

The throbbing pain behind his eyes continued to grow as he sat on his couch. With coffee in hand and obscurely cherry-tasting tablet in mouth, he sipped, swallowed and closed his eyes to avoid the ever-growing brightness of the lights around him and he pressed three fingers to his temple. His throat was as dry as a desert, Spencer decided, not really thinking straight. He needed water. He might as well turn off the lights, too. Soon, he stood panting in his dark kitchen after drinking deeply from a glass of water.

The pain slowly turned into more of a constant stream of waves, receding for a moment. until crashing back down on his skull until he held his head and rubbed his palm into his eye socket as if the pressure alone would make it go away. He stood there, wincing and shutting his eyes tight, waiting for each wave to pass. Soon, he realized that the water was a bad decision when he found himself heaving over his toilet, bile burning at the back of his throat. This wasn't a migraine. It was worse. It was much more than that - or was he just delusionally overestimating the circumstances? Surely he was just nervous and panicked. It had been a long time since he had experienced anything like this and he understood that it wasn't life threatening… but this wasn't what his migraines felt like... this felt familiar, more understood...

Several minutes later, he left bathroom looking grotesquely pale. A wave receded, and he was able to function for a moment once again. Bracing against the wall for support on his leg, he began to move back to the living room to lie down - but halfway there, that dreaded out-of-body state created a panic within him. Blood rushed to his head and his vision blacked out as he stood there, swaying, desperately trying to regain his sense of balance, but to no avail. He felt his knees buckle underneath him and he fell forward until his head made contact with the edge of his countertop.

* * *

 _"What's your name?" the man grunted in annoyance. He had a slight southern twang that mixed with mostly plain American accent. It made him sound extra intimidating when angry. Reid held his hand close and sobs wracked his body. It hurt. It hurt a lot, even when the pain was dulled. He wanted to stand up and lunge at the unsub. He wanted to kill him, but the drugs kept him incapacitated and leaned back in the crude chair. This time, he thought for a moment before saying anything._

 _"Tell me!"_

 _"I don't know," he cried. Was that what he needed to hear? "I don't know what my name is!"_

 _The unsub sighed in satisfaction. "Then who is Spencer Reid?"_

 _"I don't know," he repeated. "I-I don't." Although he wasn't superb at acting, he was sure that the unsub didn't care about that. He was after something else._

 _"Good," he said smugly. "Who do you work for?"_

 _He thought about this, too. "Nobody."_

 _"Wrong," he said, grabbing the same arm but instead moved to his wrist where all of the veins ran through. He did not see but instead felt the extreme heat, and the pain that came with it made his brain try to tear away from the feeling and isolate himself, but the hurt was far too consuming._

 _"Stop!" Spencer cried. His body glistened with sweat from sheer exhaustion and hurt._

 _"Start over," the unsub growled through gritted teeth. "What. Is. Your. Name?"_

 _"I-I-I don't know."_

 _"Who do you work for?"_

 _He struggled to find an answer while the bigger person in the room waited impatiently. The realisation made his heart sink. He knew the answer._

 _"You."_

 _Suddenly, in what sounded like a far away land, glass shattered in the direction of upstairs. He jerked his head towards the source of the noise, and miraculously found himself able to move again. When he stood up, the unsub didn't notice - in fact, he didn't even avert his gaze from where Reid was previously sitting. When he turned to look at the chair, he was shocked to see another Spencer still there. What spooked him even more was the dark bruise around one of his sunken eyes, his pale skin, and blue lips with a huge split down the middle - only the beginning of what his body would look like in two weeks time._

 _"Good," the unsub stated with satisfaction. Spencer - the present Spencer - followed him up the stairs._

 _Especially in Spencer's dreams, he found it difficult to discern reality from fiction. All felt normal and almost natural to him; therefore, when he caught his reflection in a small, dusty mirror, he found himself to be invisible. He continued on his way._

 _The unsub was there one second, and gone the next. However, Spencer continued through the home. It was small and dirty, and a fireplace roared in the corner. A small television with an armchair pointing towards it droned the sound and sight of static. The entire upstairs area reeked of stale cigarettes and alcohol, and the underlying unpleasantries of something rotting far away made his nose wrinkle. Pieces of the house seemed to be missing in his dream - places he hadn't observed within the real world. They weren't obscured from view, however, but it seemed as though his eyes just passed over the areas as if they were merely out of focus._

 _A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, and soon he found himself peering outside of the living room window. There stood a girl. A beautiful, dark-haired young lady who looked ragged and hurt, just like Spencer. His heart filled with hope - someone was here to see him like this! He tripped over his own feet, but caught himself and ran towards the screened front door. He opened it and tried to run outside, but when he took a step, he found himself falling, falling, falling instead of landing his right foot…_

And when he did land, he found himself lying on the floor near his kitchen.

For a moment, he was numb and oblivious until a throbbing pain near his eye brought him back to the world. He only had time to glance at the microwave clock before an urgent knocking resumed at his door. It was five in the morning. How had he passed out for two whole hours?

The knocking persisted until he scrambled to his feet, wincing at his leg as he stumbled to the door and unlocked it. Ms. Henderson, his exceptionally polite neighbour well into her eighties was standing there in her nightgown. She looked tired and a little bit annoyed, but mostly concerned.

"Good morning, Ms. Henderson," he said as casually as he could, opening the door as little as possible without looking suspicious.

"Heavens!" she exclaimed. "Such a ruckus, and look at your face… I just wanted to see if you were alright, dear, then I heard you drop a glass. Is everything okay? Was there an accident?"

"No, I just slipped," Reid was quick to say. "My freezer is broken, and I slipped on the melted ice. I'm sorry for scaring you, miss."

"Oh, are you sure that you're okay? I've heard some rustling around for some time now - I know that in your line of work things can seem pretty hectic, especially with the… incident." She mouthed the last word as if it were a curse word. "When I was a younger lady, I was quite the adventurer. I surely broke a few bones, and when I did, I made sure to get lots of rest -"

"I promise you, Ms. Henderson, I'm fine. Go back to bed, it's too early for you to be up. I've got to get ready for work." He put on his best fake smile and shut the door gently, despite the lady's polite protests. He fumbled for the lightswitch and clumsily flipped it on with his palm.

His heart skipped a beat when he took in his surroundings. His apartment was torn apart from head to toe. Every single one of his drawers and cupboards was pulled out and rummaged in, and a few of them even toppled to the floor. His TV was unplugged, many of his books littered the ground and many of his mugs and glasses were shattered on his kitchen tiles.

Someone had been in his house.


End file.
